


Falling Slowly

by frozensight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:07:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensight/pseuds/frozensight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before seeing the white of snow surrounding Him, He remembered nothing. Not His name, not His family, not even who He was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling Slowly

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k8mtXwtapX4) which I recommend you listen to as you read
> 
> also this is most definitely not an accurate representation of a logger's life I'm sorry to disappoint

All He remembered was a blinding white light and then waking up in a shallow crater.

\--

He’d been discovered by some loggers, who informed Him that they were in Maine, USA. Whatever that meant. They were also kind enough to give Him some clothes because apparently He was naked. It didn’t seem important to Him, but He obliged them because the cold was creeping in on His hands and feet, among other things.

“What’s your name, son?” asked the main logger, their foreman He believed they had called him.

He took a while to answer, carefully inspecting the flannel shirt and jeans they’d given Him because it seemed achingly familiar. The coffee cup in His hand warmed Him in a way He had the impression He’d never quite experienced before. He met the foreman’s eyes and softly said, “I don’t know.”

\--

They took to calling Him Nate, which was short for Nathaniel or so they said, and He went along with it. He knew it wasn’t His real name, but it felt _almost_ right and that was the closest He’d gotten to remembering who He was in the entire two weeks He’d been with them.

\--

It was unorthodox, (“And illegal!” Will had chimed in reassuringly.) but they allowed Him to help them work.

“We’re behind on our monthly quota,” the foreman had begun, his tone gruff and commanding, “otherwise I’d send you to the nearest hospital and let them worry about you.”

He was a quick learner, as it turned out, and soon enough the quota had come and gone and He was still with them. No one questioned it, silently following the foreman’s lead. Somewhere in the weeks He’d been with them, He’d become one of them. It didn’t matter that he didn’t remember who He was or where He came from. He could work just as fast and efficiently as those who’d been working there for years.

\--

After a month they started calling Him Nathaniel Hawthorne. When He asked about the addition of the last name, the foreman guffawed and said, “John there fancies himself a literature scholar and has seen fit to give you the name of his favorite author.”

John blushed, sputtering as he tried to defend himself, but He smiled and thanked him.

“Nathaniel Hawthorne,” He said it out loud, the syllables still all wrong as they tumbled out of his mouth, but in a way, it also felt right.

They all get drunk that night in celebration, and for the first time, He felt completely accepted.

\--

That night He dreamt.

It was bright and horribly vivid. He kept seeing a man and who was presumably his brother, and something inside Him yelled-- _screamed_ \--that He needed to find them, that they would help Him remember, but in the dream He couldn’t do anything but watch them travel and fight various creatures. He felt like He was watching one of the movies that Adam had put on the other night, but He couldn’t press pause.

He woke up shouting a name that He knew was important, but still couldn’t remember the significance of.

“Who the fuck is Dean?” asked Will, his voice heavy with sleep. His cry had caused many of the still drunk men to stir in their beds.

“I...I don’t know.” He got a grunt in reply, soon followed by snores. He climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom to wash His face.

The mirror showed Him a reflection of a man He didn’t know. He saw a scruffy man, hair starting to get long, and eyes that asked more questions than it got answers. He identified with the man, but He didn’t know him. The man in the mirror was a logger and on his way to becoming an unofficial native of Maine. An itch crawled over and under His skin--an itch that hissed at Him, telling Him that He had once been so much more.

\--

One day, Robert didn’t come back to the cabin with the others, and no one knew where he’d gone.

“He’ll turn up sooner or later, don’t you worry, Nate!” said the foreman, patting His back as they all sat in the rec room for a hockey game. “Robert’s always playing jokes like this.”

He knew He was the newcomer there, but He didn’t have to look around the room to know everyone wasn’t calmed by their foreman’s words.

The wind howled outside, and for a moment He thought He heard a wolf.

\--

Robert’s body was found a day later--stiff, bloody, and without a heart.

The foreman tried to keep the lack of a heart detail from most of the men, but everyone knew. Whispers echoed just before light’s out, and everyone was on edge.

He has a feeling He knows what killed Robert, but the answer clung to the tip of his tongue.

\--

Ryan disappeared next. Men mumbled about how maybe he just went to the next town over and got drunk, maybe he fell asleep at a girl’s apartment and would be back any minute, or maybe he got arrests for public indecency.

The wind howled again that night.

\--

Three days later, they found Ryan just like Robert--frozen and heartless.

\--

A curfew is announced. No man is to be out after nightfall or before dawn alone. He isn’t let out of the foreman’s sight. “You’re the scrawniest of us all, Nate. I’m not letting anything happen to you. Too much paperwork.”

A nugget of pride welled inside of Him, made Him want to say that He could take care of Himself, but He didn’t know _why_ He thought that. His mouth stayed shut, and He allowed Himself to be chaperoned everywhere.

\--

For a while no one else disappears, and though two men short, they all began to breathe again.

That’s when the FBI agents showed up.

\--

They called themselves Agents Rockwell and Mulder, and they were there to investigate Robert and Ryan’s deaths--murders, they said.

“Who murdered them?” asked John quietly as they all stood behind or around the foreman.

“That’s what we’re where to find out, sir.” The answer was directed at all of them, but Agent Mulder’s eyes were still focused on Him, as they had been since they’d arrived. Several of the other loggers had noticed, even Agent Rockwell had glanced at his partner uncertainly and gawked at Him a bit. It was an expression that said he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and it made Him uncomfortable because it was similar to the expression He still gave Himself when looking in a mirror.

He was more than a little relieved when the two agents excused themselves to take a look around the property and where the bodies had been found.

“I expect you all to cooperate with the agents’ investigation about Robert and Ryan,” declared the foreman, answered by a muttered chorus of affirmations.

“Let’s hope that’s all they’re investigating,” murmured Will, a telling glance at him as they all chuckled quietly and walked inside the cabin.

His heart was beating fast though at the idea of the agents investigating Him now. He wasn’t sure if it was the fear of them discovering Him working there illegally or of being discovered in general. Briefly He wondered if the agents could maybe help Him find out who He was, or if they already knew.

\--

That night, the wind blew fiercely against the cabin, howling like it was apt to do, but somewhere in the distance He thought He heard something more, something like shouting. A clear gunshot was heard, and He sat up in bed, His nerves feeling like they were on fire. Suddenly it was clear to Him. They had looked strikingly like the men in His dreams.

“Dean.”

The named rolled from his lips like it was the most natural thing He’d ever done, and before anyone else could wake up enough to realize a gun had been fired, He was already lacing up His boots and running out into the snow, following the sounds He had thought were only for dreams and movies.

\--

Flashes of what He assumed were memories appeared to Him in rapid succession. There seemed to be no chronological order, and truthfully none of it made sense to Him. Instead, He let the images wash over Him as He ran towards where the noises were still reverberating throughout the forest originated.

The most coherent flashes were those of falling, of being surrounded by a fiery blaze. Tumbling downwards, faster and faster, as He gained momentum. The crash where He’d felt the earth give way beneath Him, causing a shallow crater as smoke billowed around Him. That memory always ended with him passing out. He was fairly certain that that was the last thing that happened before He was found by the loggers.

He was out of breath and shivering more than a little when He stopped running. Before Him was the two agents standing over a motionless body, blood seeping into the snow around it. They looked up, guns ready, when they heard His feet crunching in the snow, but they both relaxed a bit when they saw Him.

Both focused intently on Him as they put their guns away, and He didn’t know what to say to them. He knew one name, recognized two faces, and had no other connections. The taller man, Agent Rockwell, kept opening his mouth and He heard noises coming out, but He couldn’t understand him. He breathed out harshly, His adrenaline fading, allowing cold to seep into His limbs as He’d neglected to put on a proper jacket before running outside. He felt like screaming because He felt like He was on the very edge of knowing everything, and yet He could understand the one thing that would send Him over.

“Hey, hey, calm down, buddy,” said Agent Mulder as he stepped closer to Him, one hand ghosting His shoulder as if he wanted to touch Him, but wasn’t sure if it’d be allowed. Instead he shrugged out of his coat and passed it to Him.

Pulling the peace offering onto His body, He looked between the agents, who He knew, somehow, were fake, and asked, his voice cracking a bit from running so hard in the cold, “Who am I? Who are _you_?”

“Sam,” said Agent Rockwell, stepping over the body so that he could also get closer, “Sam Winchester.”

“And I’m--”

“Dean.” He interrupted because knew his name, and He could see from the look on Agent Mulder--Dean’s face that he was glad that He remembered that. He focused on Dean’s face, his eyes, his mouth, everything, for a moment before He took to glancing between them again before frowning into the distance. “Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah, and you’re -------.” Sam was smiling, clearly thinking they were making headway, but He still couldn’t hear His name--and He _knew_ that’s the mysterious word Sam kept saying because this was the first time He’d never been able to hear a word before. Sam’s smile faded a little when the confusion remained on His face, and the two brothers--He remembered they were brothers in His dreams so that was probably true still--shared a look of concern.

“----iel,” repeated Sam, more forcefully this time, and He saw fringes of gold around His vision. He’d almost heard it that time. He heard the last couple letters, and it let Him know why being called Nathaniel had felt so safe. But still He couldn’t hear His name! He could almost remember what He had been--why He’d been falling so far and fast, but He couldn’t remember what He was called and that felt like the key to everything else.

He fell to His knees, overwhelmed with trying to hear and understand Sam’s elusive word--His elusive name. For the first time since He’d woken up to the sound of chainsaws, He felt like crying because He was close, _so close_ , and He felt like He would never find out who He was. Vaguely He heard hushed whispers above Him as He curled in upon Himself, but He ignored it because they had already done enough by being there. If He couldn’t remember His name upon seeing people from His dream, then surely it was His own fault by now that He didn’t know who He was.

A hand on His shoulder alerted Him that one of them was kneeling down beside Him.

“Hey, it’ll be okay; you’ll remember who you are. If Anna could do it, I know you can.” Anna. He knew that was His...sister? Yes, His sister. He felt even sadder for some reason even though He thought one was supposed to be happy upon finding out about family? This was different, He knew, but He couldn’t _remember_ and He let out a pained growl as He let Himself sink further into the snow.

“---tiel don’t you _fucking dare_ give up on me when I’ve just found you again!” Dean’s voice was clear and stern, and it shook Him as the gold fringes crawled onto His vision like spider webs. He lifted His head until He could look into Dean’s eyes as Dean had shifted so that he was kneeling in front of Him, hand gripping His left shoulder tightly. “You _will_ remember even if I have to beat it into you or find fucking Crowley. I would do anything for you, --s.”

“Dean,” He reached out and gripped Dean’s shoulder, mirroring his actions, and gazing determinedly back into his eyes, He asked, “Please, Dean, call my name one more time.”

For a moment it seemed like nothing would make noise ever again. Sam was all but forgotten behind Him and Dean, and the snow had already done a thorough job of quieting the world. Then, after hesitating for a second, Dean opened his mouth and said the one word He needed to hear. Even then, He didn’t so much hear it as feel it swell up from deep inside Him. It flooded Him, seeping into every inch of His skin and soul. He sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly as the gold that had blinded Him, obscuring His sight, faded away to the dim lighting of the moonlight on the snow.

“Castiel,” He repeated, voice barely there, and He watched as Dean’s face lit up, mouth spreading into a grin. “My name is Castiel. I’m an angel of the Lord.”

“That’s right, Cas.” Dean let out a strangled laugh as he shook Him-- _Castiel_ \--and glanced briefly up at Sam. “You’re Cas.”

He wanted to repeat His name forever after going so long without knowing it. Castiel, Castiel, Castiel, _Castiel_. The more He said it, the faster and more complete the memories came soaring back to Him. He remembered why the mention of Anna had made Him sad. Why on that first night flannel and jeans had been a comforting combination. How He had known what the thing that killed Robert and Ryan was without even seeing it. Most importantly of all, He remembered why He fell.

“I’m _your_ Cas,” He corrected softly, a small smile on His own face as He said it. Dean seemed to get flustered at that, and Sam grunted about taking care of the decaying werewolf.

Dean turned his head to retort at the back of his retreating brother, but He--Castiel--reached out with His other hand and made Dean face Him again. They were close enough that Castiel could feel Dean’s breath on His skin, and He had the urge to close that distance even further, but something in Dean’s eyes made Him stay still.

“What happened to you?” asked Dean quietly, as if the very question would make Castiel disappear again.

He sighed, pressing His forehead against Dean’s as He answered, “I was told that I had two options before me. I could continue on as an angel, full power, and on my way to becoming one of the new archangels...” Castiel paused, taking in the look of concentration on Dean’s face before continuing, “Or I could become human.”

“And?” Dean’s tone, face, eyes were all hopeful and yet so afraid to hope for something good to happen to him.

Castiel tilted His head slightly, smile broadening as he whispered softly, “I fell.”

Eyes lit up and Dean’s lips grinned back at Him as he adopted a playful tone and asked, “So you chose being a human over being an archangel?”

He shook His head, watching Dean fondly as He murmured, “No, I chose being with _you_ over being an archangel.”

That left Dean speechless, and Castiel did take this opportunity to kiss him. When He’d leaned back, Dean was still in shock, and Sam was walking back over from where he’d set the werewolf’s body on fire. He nodded at Sam as He stood up, holding out a hand to Dean.

“Hello Sam.”

“Hey Cas, glad you remember everything now.” Sam looked at Dean, a small smirk on his face as he noticed his brother’s dumbstruck expression. “Uh, we should probably leave before the loggers get up.”

Dean cleared his throat as he stood up but didn’t release Castiel’s hand. “Yeah, best to get out before they realize we’ve committed a crime.” He began to walk away, presumably towards the car, as he added, “Come on, Cas; I’m sure we have some non-mountain man clothes that you can wear.”

“Dean, I can’t leave.” Castiel’s words caused both Sam and Dean to stop moving and gape at him. Dean’s face gave the impression that he’d just gone through the most painful “psych!” moment of his life, and Castiel shook his head and squeezed Dean’s hand tightly as he finished, “ _Yet_. I can’t leave yet because those men have taken care of me and given me a bed to sleep in even when I had no clue as to who I was. I wouldn’t feel right disappearing on them, letting them think I went the same way as Robert and Ryan.”

“Cas--”

He shook His head as He said with a small grin, “I’ll meet you two at the car after I say goodbye, I promise.”

Dean watched Him for a moment before sighing and letting go of His hand. Sam nodded at Him as he followed his older brother through the forest.

Castiel closed His eyes and breathed before heading back to the cabin that Nathaniel Hawthorne had almost called home.

\--

It took far longer to say goodbye to the loggers than Castiel had anticipated, but He was glad He’d gone back. They apparently had been getting ready to come out to the forest after Him, and He’d arrived just as they’d been about to embark on their “rescue mission.” He told them that He remembered the FBI agents from His life before, that He was pretty sure He’d been one himself or at least had some sort of connection to them. So He was going with them to find out who He really was.

The foreman thumped Castiel’s back, almost making Him fall over, as he declared, “I knew those FBI guys had to have a good reason for giving you the stink-eye! Nice to know they’re actually doing their jobs!”

Will leaned in closely as he hugged Castiel goodbye, and whispered, “Watch out for that Mulder fellow. I think he has some unrighteous intentions towards you, Nate.”

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh as He shook Will’s hand and replied, “I will definitely keep an eye on him.” before moving on to saying goodbye to the rest of the men who had come to be like brothers to Him in His approximate month and a half at the cabin.

John was crying, Gerard played “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow” on his harmonica while everyone sang along, and Nick gave Castiel his most prized possession--raggedy old bible that had been in his family for generations.

“Oh Nick, I couldn’t possibly accept this.” He’d heard many tales about the bible’s history from Nick, and how even when it was misplaced, it always seemed to make its way back to his family.

“Nonsense,” began Nick as he scratched the greying whiskers at his chin, “I have no children to give it to, so I think it’s better off with you. God wants you to have it so you always know angels are watching over you.”

Torn between wanting to laugh and cry, Castiel settled on hugging Nick tightly and mumbling thank you as He took the bible into His hands with reverent care. He heard the revving of a car in the distance and knew that Dean was getting impatient.

“Thank you, again, for everything. I wouldn’t have ever found myself if not for you all.”

“Think nothing of it, Nate! If you ever get bored of your FBI buddies, feel free to come back here and work with us!”

Smiling widely, Castiel ducked His head a little as He placed His hand on the doorknob. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

He could hear their shouts of goodbye all the way to the car.

Dean was in the driver’s seat, tapping the steering wheel anxiously while Sam sat shotgun looking like he desperately wanted to get away from his brother. Castiel chuckled as He approached, bible clutched in His hands.

\--

He sat in the backseat out of familiarity and comfort, even though Sam offered to switch.

“No, I’m good. This feels like home,” He replied.

Both Sam and Dean smiled at Him, and Castiel smiled back.

Dean turned up his music.

Sam turned on his iPod.

Castiel turned the page of His “new” bible to page one.


End file.
